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“Don’t even. Who did this to you?”
She barked out a hysterical laugh. “No one did it to me. I screwed up all by myself.”
Oh, great. An immaculate conception. “What do Daisy and Pete have to say?” Her aunt and uncle might not be the most devoted guardians, but they were all she’d known since his stepfather died when she was five years old and Jack was fifteen. While content to take in the angelic blonde offspring of her dead brother, Daisy had been less receptive to his stepson, or ‘the bastard son of that Irish slag’ as she’d referred to Jack when she thought he was out of earshot.
Over the next three years until he left for Paris, he spent more nights on friends’ sofas than under Daisy’s roof though they’d all become great friends once Jack’s financial contributions to his sister’s upkeep tipped the scales. His first lesson in the purchase of affection.
One of Jules’ slight shoulders lifted in a half-shrug that contrasted with the downturn of her mouth. She picked up a stapler from the desk and proceeded to pull it apart.
“They don’t care. They’re on their annual pilgrimage to ex-pat-landia on the Costa del Sol.”
“I’m calling them now,” he threatened, eager to take out his frustration on the people who were supposed to be responsible for her. Acknowledging Jules’ adulthood had always been nigh on impossible for him between her irresponsible attitude and her recalcitrance whenever he offered help. That she was here at all meant she was in serious trouble, and maybe more than just being pregnant.
“You can’t reach them. They don’t have international mobiles.” That sounded plausible—he usually phoned them at home—but he couldn’t be certain. His sister had a tendency for an excessive liberality with the truth. She lifted her eyes, his mother’s eyes, to meet his. They were wide with confusion and fear. His heart sank further, if possible. The confusion might be out of his wheelhouse right now, but he could do something about the fear.
Shifting her head slightly, she addressed a spot behind him. “You look skinnier in person.”
He turned to find Lili hovering in the doorway, Jules’s purse dangling in one hand, a glass of water in the other. She deposited the bag inside, gently, as if running a military stealth operation. Now he absorbed the rest of her appearance. Something black and Audrey Hepburnesque covered by a server’s apron. Her legs were sheathed in shiny boots on spiky heels, and he felt the now-familiar hardening of his body. Could that be any more inappropriate?
He spun about to face Jules. “Who is it? Do I know him?” Anger mounted in his throat and he fought to suppress it before it turned into a full on rush.
“It’s no one you know,” his sister muttered.
“I know a lot of people. Try me.” This dickhead was on the hook for knocking up his sister and he’d better be prepared to take full responsibility.
“Eight million people in London, Jack. Even you can’t know everyone.”
Lili set the water down on the desk and wheeled out another chair, hitting the back of his legs. He supposed that was an invitation to sit. As soon as he did, Jules’s slender shoulders slackened, and he realized that standing over her, he’d been scaring her. Worst brother ever.
“How do you feel?” He looked up at Lili, who had backed away but halted at whatever she saw on his face.
“A little tired,” Jules said. She grasped the water glass with trembling hands.
Once she had taken a sip, he took both her hands in his. Really, he wanted to hold her close but she wasn’t one for big displays of affection. Where he preferred to rant and rail and hug it out, she turned her focus inward and shut down shop. But for the physical resemblance, he might wonder if they were related.
“Baby girl, we’re going to fix this.” He tried to remember the last time he’d called her that and came up empty. A stab of pain lacerated his lungs.
“I’m not going back to London, Jack,” she said defiantly, withdrawing her hands from his. She knew that would be his first suggestion. “I’m sorry about barging in but I couldn’t wait.”
He didn’t have to look behind him to know that Cara and assorted crew were strafing his back with visual gunfire, willing him back to the kitchen.
“Can you wait here while I finish up?” Not that she had anywhere to go. She had always been tall but now her body looked boneless and small and nowhere near ready for the burden of a child. His heart exploded with his love for her and his fervent wish she was anywhere but here.
He nodded to Lili and headed toward the door.
Outside the office, they stood facing each other, trying to craft a moment of quiet above the metallic clinks of the kitchen a few feet away. She brushed his hand, testing, and they exhaled as one then took a long breath together. He was re-learning to breathe and she was his teacher. With soft fingers, she stroked his forearm, rhythmically, tracing a path from elbow to wrist. She hadn’t said a thing, but he felt soothing words in her touch.
He longed to slip under cool sheets, wrap his body around her, and sleep for a week.
“What a fucking mess,” he finally grunted out, because they couldn’t stand here all night and it was true. “She hates me.”
“Because it’s all about you, Jack Kilroy.”
Ouch, a low shot, but thoroughly deserved.
She pressed her soft hand into his. “She’s in trouble and she came to see you. Her big brother.”
He shuddered out a begrudging breath, reluctant to acknowledge that might be conceivable. “Could you sit with her? I don’t want her to be alone.” The fury and frustration had simmered to helplessness, such an unfamiliar feeling. He solved problems and no situation was ever too broken for him to fix.
